If There's Life After This
by sylvaniae
Summary: Sam and Dean go to another school while on yet another hunt, expecting the usual blending in, research, killing whatever's hurting the local populace, and burning rubber out of town when they're done. But what happens when they discover that some of the worst monsters are just humans? What if the victim is one of their own? Will they be able to pick up the pieces? WINCEST!
1. Chapter 1

If There's Life After This  
Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this series. That honor goes to Eric Kripke. Please don't sue me because you sure as hell won't get much.

Author's note: WINCEST, don't like, don't read! I have received a nasty and poorly written review from an anonymous reader, and I'd rather avoid idiots like these in the future. It isn't my fault people can't read warnings in a summary.

It was their third new school in just as many months. As Sam looked across the parking lot to the entrance of Jackson High School, he tried to make out something that might make this place different than the others, but from what he could see, everything looked the same. Sure, the buildings were different, varied in size, but the atmosphere wasn't. There were the same cliques, the same social hierarchies, and the same background into which he'd have to fade and become invisible. Sam Winchester, once he left this school and was no longer a blip on its radar, would be that small runt of a fourteen-year-old in the yearbook no one would remember.

Dean ruffled his kid brother's hair, making Sam furiously try to fix it and glare up at him. "You know we're gonna have to go in there sometime, right?" He paused and looked at the faded, old sign above the school's doors. "Not a good idea to stand out by being late our first day," he said, steering the younger boy towards the door. "Geez, this place is old as shit."

"I like it. It's historic. The school is nearly a century old. If you'd bothered to read up on this town at all, you would've known," Sam said with a smirk.

His big brother rolled his eyes and pushed Sam towards the door. "Get in there, geek boy. We have to do this sooner or later." Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, yawning.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. Dean was right, though. Delaying the inevitable wasn't going to do any good. So he matched his brother's lazy pace down through the parking lot and into the school. "Dad said this was a werewolf hunt. We don't have a lot of time to find it. I mean, the full moon isn't even a week away. Does he have any idea where it might be?" Sam asked.

"No, not yet. We'll need you on research for this one." When Sam just shook his head and scoffed, Dean smacked him lightly on the head. "Yeah, I know we always put you on research. But Dad already said you're not coming on the hunt. Bobby'll join us once we find it. Meet you at the Impala after class. Don't be late, bitch."

Sam rolled his eyes and the smallest of grins crossed his face as he said, "Whatever, jerk," and walked off to homeroom, reaching it just before the bell rang. Yeah, Dean was right about the place being pretty damn old. The place desperately needed some renovations, even if the rustic charm of the building might be compromised a little in the process. He wouldn't be surprised if there was an asbestos problem.

He chanced a look at all the other students who were already sitting down. Most of them were staring at him; some stifled snickers behind their hands, while others were less discreet. It was going to be a long day.

His thoughts were confirmed when he received his new schedule and saw that P.E. was the first class of the day. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. Yet another chance for a bunch of idiots to pick on his smaller physique and his clumsiness. But if his rapidly growing feet had anything to say about it, the height part was going to change soon. It sure would be nice if his body would finally decide to get the memo that he was fourteen now and should be going through puberty. Sure, he was strong from all of the training Dad made him and Dean undergo, but his small, scrawny frame didn't show it.

For now, though, maybe this group would actually have an original name to call him. On second thought, they probably wouldn't. If his homeroom was anything to judge by, the guys in his class were most likely just a bunch of stupid jocks. Laughing inwardly at their brainless insults would be entertainment enough.

"You got P.E. first, too? I think they're trying to kills us small fry," someone said from behind him, looking over his shoulder at his schedule. The hunter startled and looked up, shooting an annoyed stare until he saw the kid redden and look away with a muttered apology.

"Hey, uh, it's okay. I just, uh... Well, you surprised me," Sam said dumbly, looking down. The kid looked harmless enough. Definitely not a member of the popular crowd, judging by those horrible glasses and demeanor. "I'm Sam," he said, trying to make his face look a little friendlier.

"I'm Brian," the kid said with a big grin, like Sam had made his day. It wasn't all that different from the smile Dean could put on his face, that smile of elation that to at least one person, he wasn't invisible. To one person, he was worth something, maybe even everything.

After about fifteen minutes, during which he and Brian slipped into a comfortable conversation about everything from school subjects to classic novels and mythology, they were dismissed. Sam slowly made his way to the locker rooms to change. As he lifted his overly large shirt (a hand-me-down from Dean) over his head, a pair of eyes settled on the shaggy-haired boy, roaming up and down across his torso appreciatively. He could feel the wandering eyes ogling his thin frame, but when he turned around, no one was looking in his direction.

The rest of the day passed by without incident, and the floppy-haired boy stood out by the Impala, waiting. The second-hand circled the face of his watch ten times before Dean finally showed.

"I thought you said not to be late, Dean. It counts for you, too, you know," Sam said with a whiny edge to his voice as Dean unlocked the car and climbed in. "I want to get out of here just as much as you do. What were you doing, anyway? Chatting up some girl again?" Hell, as gorgeous as his brother was with his dirty blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and adorable freckles, he'd probably already gotten to at least first base with someone today.

"Gotta at least check out the chicks, Sammy. Don't see why you don't do the same thing once in a while," the older boy said as Sam got into the car and buckled himself up.

"What's the point? We'll only be here long enough to take care of the job, like always." The skinny shrimp of a teenager just shook his head and rested his head on the window. Maybe if their lives didn't require them live like nomads, he'd be able to get into an actual relationship.

It would also help if he found girls even remotely attractive. Hell, he wouldn't mind being attracted to guys. At least he wouldn't have a forbidden, sick crush on his big brother that he could never pursue.

He could imagine how well that would pan out if he ever told Dean. And if Dad found out… he would have every right to disown him. I'm already the reason Mom's dead, and he tells me often enough how bad I am at hunting. He doesn't need another reason to hate me.

Or knock him around, which he'd been doing for the last few years or so, since he was old enough to take part in the hunt. The second of November was always the worst, when his father would come back to the hotel they were holed up in with whiskey on his breath and come at him, blows intent on causing pain and injury with perfect precision. Sure, Sam had been taught by the best, but he was no match for someone as big as John. Soon enough, the fight would always end with the youngest Winchester unconscious on the floor.

The first time it had happened had been on the tenth anniversary of Mary's death, the mother he couldn't even remember. He had woken on the bed a few hours later with Dad's hand carding through his soft fringe, the sheer gentleness of it all but screaming his remorse. Everything had hurt. Several ice packs were positioned strategically over his worst injuries, along with bandages and a splint. Neither of them had said anything, though the silence was anything but comfortable. His father's guilty expression was enough of an apology for a young, forgiving Sam.

Thankfully, Dean had been laid up in the hospital after a particularly vicious encounter with a wendigo after their most recent hunt, so he never saw the injuries. And Sam was good enough at pretending that everything was fine that he was able to head off his brother's concerns easily. All it took was a few lies about a bogus poltergeist hunt where Sam hadn't been quick enough to come out unscathed to explain away the bruises and soreness.

It didn't stop Dean from watching his brother a little more closely, eyes calculating and suspicious. Sam was uncomfortable under that stare. God, had it been hard not to let anything on.

After that, John was a lot more careful where and how hard he hit his youngest child. He was always drunk to the gills when he let himself go, but he never, ever let himself lose complete control again. And Sam would never tell because, deep down, he knew he deserved it. So he let his father hurt him, rarely even putting up a fight, and his older brother still was in the dark after four long years due to no small amount of luck, deception, and suspicion on Dean's part.

Although the family business was sufficiently dangerous to explain away any marks Dean ever saw, Sam could tell his brother  
thought something was off. Sure, they were both covered in scars, and bruises were just a part of the job, but the timing wasn't random enough for something to not be wrong. Sam wouldn't cave, though. He couldn't deprive Dean of that perfect image of the father he idolized.

"Sam? Sammy! We're back at the motel, runt. Come on and get out of the car," Dean said, waving his hand in front of his brother's face. Sam grabbed it and shook his head in annoyance as he climbed out, muttering a few choice curses under his breath about older siblings.

"Dude, I was trying to get your attention for, like, five minutes in there. You okay?" Dean looked at him with obvious concern, but the younger boy averted his face, letting his hair cover the eyes he knew would betray him.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, brushing past Dean, his eyes to the ground as he walked to the door and pulled out his key to the motel. No, he wasn't fine, hadn't been for a long time. But he couldn't tell his brother without being grilled about it. And in the process of a long line of exhausting questions, at least one of his two secrets would come out because, in the end, he could  
never refuse his brother anything.

But delaying the inevitable? He could do that.

When he entered their room, he found a note lying conspicuously on the bed with his father's unmistakable scrawl on it:

DON'T FORGET TO CHECK THE SALT LINES EVERY TIME YOU COME IN AND WHEN YOU LEAVE. USE THE TERRAIN AROUND HERE FOR YOUR RUNNING, AND SEE IF YOU CAN PICK UP THE SPEED. 30 MIN SPARRING TIME EVERY DAY (DEAN, I WILL FIND OUT IF YOU GO EASY ON YOUR BROTHER). CLEAN AND CHECK ALL THE WEAPONS EVERY NIGHT.

AND DEAN, LEAVE SOME FOOD FOR YOUR BROTHER. MAKE SURE HE EATS MORE THAN THAT RABBIT FOOD HE KEEPS GETTING. DON'T LET HIM SLACK ON HIS TRAINING TO DO SCHOOLWORK.

Sam picked it up and read through it, rolling his eyes, then handed it to Dean. "Not sure why he finds the need to give us these instructions whenever we come to a new town. We know the drill by now," he said as he changed into his training gear. "Does he think we'll forget to maintain the salt lines or something? And I don't eat rabbit food. I just don't eat all that greasy junk you do."

Dean finished reading and started putting on his own training clothes. "Well, we did forget that time back in Santa Ana, and that spirit's dead sister attacked us, remember?" He smirked at his brother and punched his arm. "And you do eat freaking rabbit food. Only veggies I like are on my burgers. Seriously, though, he's just trying to protect us."

_Yeah, and throwing us right into the middle of it all with him accomplishes that so well._ "Let's just get the routine over with so I can research and do my homework, okay?" With that, Sam was out the door, waiting for his sibling so they could start their run. Dean followed, worry plastered on his face, but he didn't say a word as they started stretching. Still, that didn't stop Dean from watching him with suspicious eyes periodically during their training. Sam did his best to keep his face expressionless, but if he knew his brother, Dean wasn't buying it.

Over the next few days, Sam and Dean didn't see John much. He stopped in to sleep, but that was only in the wee hours of the night, long after his boys had gone to bed. When they heard the lock turning, their eyes would pop open, and their hands instantly grabbed for their weapons until they realized it was just Dad. John would move to his bed and crash, and the boys both fell asleep again easily enough after that, even if Sam was a classic cover-hog and tended to stretch out like he was the only one on the bed.

School was uneventful most of the time, at least for Sam. He was able to keep himself from standing out, like they had to do. Bullies still found him, but he could usually give them the slip. Staying quiet and keeping out of the way were invaluable skills in warding off anyone who might give him trouble.

The only problem was Chase. Just… everything about him gave him the creeps. The boy was tall and muscular with dark hair and wolfish, black eyes that frightened him. Most of all, it was the way he stared at him sometimes, especially in the locker room, that made him uneasy. As they changed, he could feel predatory eyes on him, looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat. The thought had never really occurred to the small, skinny teen that he was attractive, but this certainly wasn't the way he wanted to find out.

The worst thing was that whenever he turned around to scowl at the boy, Chase would just smirk at him and continue his unnerving stare. So Sam had taken to getting in and out of there as fast as he could before and after each gym class.

Thankfully, he didn't have any other classes with Chase, who was sixteen and still in ninth-grade remedial classes. For most of the day, Sam was safe.

Otherwise, it was life as usual for the Winchesters. Dad had gotten a lead on the werewolf, and he and Dean were planning to check it out, come nightfall. When they woke that morning, Dad had informed them of that night's reconnaissance plans and that Sam would be staying home.

"Make sure you keep the salt lines intact, and keep your silver knife and your gun near you. You've already loaded it with silver bullets, right?"

Sam sighed heavily as he started getting ready for school. "Dad, we're dealing with a werewolf. I'd have to be an idiot not to load the thing with silver bullets," he said before pouring himself some cereal. "Don't use all the hot water, jerk! Leave some for me!" Dean's reply was muffled by the sound of water running, but he was sure it contained the word "bitch" somewhere.

"Don't use that tone with me, Sam," John said. "It's going to be dangerous enough with just me, Dean, and Bobby hunting that thing. I don't want to have to worry about you, too."

The young boy relented with a nod and resumed eating. Fifteen minutes later, Sam and Dean were in the Impala and on their way for another long school day.

When Dean got out of the car, a girl had already sauntered her way to the car and started talking with him, her hand trailing over his well-developed chest. Sam shook his head with disgust. The girls were practically throwing themselves at his brother, and Dean couldn't seem to get enough of it. But none of those girls would be there after this hunt. Dean would never be able to share anything of substance about his life with any of them. He knew that the way he desired and loved his brother was wrong, but the only one who really understood him, protected him, and made him feel like he was special was Dean. And he was the one person he could never have.

The younger Winchester turned around and walked off toward the school entrance. He never saw his brother's eyes trailing him, letting down their cool, confident façade to reveal confusion in their seemingly endless, green depths.

As Sam went to class, he could feel eyes on him, the same ones that had been following him for days. Too bad that he had to go to gym first and couldn't lose the asshole. It was more than obvious that Chase had it out for him somehow. But why was he waiting? He already bullied some of the other students in his class. He couldn't help the feeling of unease that came over him when he entered the locker room and started changing. Those eyes never stopped watching him, even when he turned around to walk out when he was done dressing. It never ceased to both amaze and frighten him that someone would be so  
bold and brazen about watching him.

Coach Wentworth, a rather short and stocky man with graying hair and next to no tolerance for bullshit, blew his whistle, and everyone who was still lingering in the locker rooms ran out and lined up. The cantankerous physical education teacher looked like he was in a fairly good mood, but even on the best of days, you could find yourself slapped with a detention if you weren't careful.

Sam stood beside Brian, the one person at this godforsaken school whom he could possibly consider a friend. Brian was short and small for his age, too, and after a few more classes together, they discovered that they shared a lot of interests. Hell, the kid even had his freckly nose buried in Nordic mythology practically all the time. After Sam's first few days at Jackson High School, they had struck a casual enough friendship, though he knew not to get too close. They'd be out of here as soon as the werewolf case was closed. Nothing good would come from getting attached.

"So, I see you all decided to get here on time today," the coach said, eying his students and smirking. "We're doing track today. Endurance testing."

A resounding moan echoed through the gym, but Sam stayed silent. "Moaning isn't gonna get you out of it, so get going!" Wentworth led the way to the door leading outside and to the track, then blew his whistle and left his students with ringing ears as they began to run. "And don't stop until you can't run or jog anymore! Try to stay at the same pace the whole time!"

For the youngest Winchester, the drill wasn't anything unusual. As much as he'd hated running at first, it seemed to be the best way for him to get out his own head for a while and just be. He didn't have to pretend while he was running. He didn't have to think. The sensations, the sounds, the sights around him... Those were the only things that entered his mind while he  
ran.

Needless to say, he loved it. His endurance was solid, even better than Dean's. He easily paced himself as he ran and was the last to stop moving. The brunette bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Coach Wentworth watched Sam recover from the long run, at a loss for words. Poor guy had obviously never seen the results of John Winchester's special brand of training before.

Brian was watching him, too, but his expression was more akin to awe. He was still out of breath, despite being one of the first to have to stop. The kid walked to Sam and said, "Where'd you learn to run like that? You should join track or cross-country!"

"Nah, I don't think that's a good idea. My family moves around a lot. I probably won't be around more than a few months at the most," Sam said, ducking his head. His brown locks obscured his eyes from view. "Besides, I've got a lot on my plate already with my classes." Getting on a team meant getting involved in something, in a group, and that wasn't something he could afford. He couldn't plant any roots here, not when he had to leave, either way.

Brian nodded, but he didn't get any more words out before the coach blew his whistle. The class trudged inside, heading to their respective locker rooms, and Sam changed back into his normal attire after a very quick shower while trying to ignore the creepy eyes he knew were staring at him. Sam and his friend left at the same time, a couple of minutes after Chase, just to be safe.

"See you, Sam," Brian said as he walked off to go to his next class. Sam watched his absurdly nerdy friend walk off with a small smile on his face. Yeah, he was definitely the only person he'd miss when he had to leave.

The boy halted in his steps and turned around. "Hey, Sam? We have to get started on that history project soon. Wanna meet after school today?"

"Yeah, do you think your place would be okay? We're still getting things moved around. The place is still full of boxes," Sam said as he started following Brian.

"That'll work. I'll meet you after school, then." The short boy then walked off, leaving Sam to his thoughts. He'd have to be careful and not become too close to Brian during this project. I can't have that extending outside of here, though. Especially not at our apartment, if you can call that shack we live in an apartment.

As usual, the day passed pretty quickly, even though he'd had to stay half an hour late for detention because he hadn't finished his work due to research Dad had piled on him at the last minute. Honestly, Sam was just relieved to go. He just had this bad feeling about this school, this place in general. Dad seemed to be close to wrapping this case up soon, thankfully. He didn't know how much longer he could stand Chase's menacing gaze.

As the young hunter walked to the front of the building to meet Brian, he knew he was going to have to apologize for making the kid wait. As he made his way down the hall, he heard a loud bang that sounded a lot like a body colliding with metal.

His heartbeat increasing rapidly, Sam increased his pace and ran to the source of the noise, finding Chase and three other guys holding Brian up against a locker as they used him for a punching bag.

The young brunette shook his head angrily, and with his blood boiling, he marched to them and used the strength most didn't suspect he had to pull them off his friend. "Leave him alone," he said with ice and venom in his tone.

Chase looked at him and just smirked down at him. "Or what? You'll tell your big brother, shrimp? I could put that cocky sonuvabitch in his place, right under me, before he knew what hit him."

Sam could feel his blood run cold as his brain absorbed Chase's words. "You leave Dean out of this!" he yelled, tackling Chase to the ground and landing a solid punch to the bully's nose. After that first hit, he was pummeling the guy, letting his fists fly with frightening ferocity. Before he could cause too much damage, someone was pulling him off the ringleader with difficulty and trying to hold him still. The other two slammed him up against the lockers and bombarded him with punches and kicks while the first guy held him in place.

"Run, Brian!" he called. "Don't look back!"

The kid ran off, stumbling and unable to keep himself from chancing a glance back at his friend. _No, keep going, you idiot! I can only keep them distracted for so long!_

He didn't have much more time to linger on his desperate thoughts because after one more punch, Sam knew no more.

When Sam came to, the first thing that he was aware of was pain. It assaulted his senses and only served to increase his confusion. _Where am I…? What the hell happened?_

Everything became clear again as soon as he saw Chase and his little circus of bullies looming over him. He was in the locker room, and with a glance around the room, he could see his only exit was blocked. _Shit_. All of them outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, and there were four overgrown blockheads against one of him. This wasn't going to end well.

Dean wouldn't be coming to his rescue, either. Sam suddenly found himself intensely regretting telling his brother to go home without him today so he could work with Brian on that history project.

"Look who's up," Chase said with a dangerous leer, moving his head to look at one of the guys who'd pummeled Sam into oblivion earlier. "You, Jack. Hold him down. Don't want him getting away. He's gonna pay for earlier," he said as he turned back to Sam, watching his prey.

Once Jack's bulky frame was holding him to the bench on which he was trapped, Chase leaned in close, letting his breath caress the soft skin of Sam's cheek. The hunter struggled uselessly, increasing his efforts when Chase laid a hand with mock gentleness on his jaw-line.

"Damn. Skin feels so much softer than I thought it'd be…" Jack's large hands pinned him down with considerable weight, making it impossible for the boy to get away as Chase fixed him with a primal stare and leaned in. Chapped lips collided with Sam's in a rough kiss that was anything but pleasant. Sam, try as he might, couldn't pull away with Chase's filthy paws on his face, but he still had his survival instincts. As soon as the sick pervert pulled away, he started screaming at the top of his lungs. Maybe Wentworth was around somewhere and would hear the noise.

"Put a gag on him, you idiots!" one of them yelled, though Sam couldn't tell who it was. Before he knew it, some fabric that smelled and tasted absolutely vile (a sock, maybe?) was stuffed in his mouth and tied tightly around his head, and nothing but muffled sounds of protest and fright escaped him now. As Chase looked down at him, he threw a desperate kick that landed in the guy's gut. All that got him was a somewhat satisfying grunt of pain, a blow to his side, and someone practically sitting on his long legs. He was pretty sure he heard a loud crack when a fist hit his ribs, and the pain momentarily took his breath away.

_I'm not getting out of here_, Sam thought hopelessly as each escape option was forcibly taken from him, one by one.

His stalker looked at him hungrily and whispered, "Now, I take what I want. And I've wanted you since I saw your sweet ass that first day." Chase leaned over him and unbuckled Sam's belt, pulling down the boy's pants none-too-gently. His boxers came off next, and that was when tears began leaking down his scared, pale face in rivulets. The older boy, whom Sam regarded more as a monster than anything else now, quickly removed his own clothing, and that was when the touches came.

Almost every loathsome sensation jarred his side and caused excruciating pain in his ribs. It was sheer torture, and Chase used any way he could to prolong it. Even after he was reduced to pleading and whimpers for them to stop, Sam couldn't stop his body from responding positively to the unwanted touches. He couldn't deny his own involuntary arousal, and it made him sick. Shame filled him to the core, both for letting this happen to him at all and for his body's traitorous reaction. God, he was so pathetic. No wonder his Dad hated him. Dean should, too, for that matter, and he didn't understand why the brother he hero-worshipped didn't feel the same.

It took a long time, but eventually, everything just became a blur tinged with blood, sweat, and countless tears. All his mind could do now was shut down, unable to take in the rest, but he could feel it all, every horrible sensation. He could hear the all the downright nasty things his attackers said to him, but nothing really stuck, at least not in his conscious mind. All of it was still there, though, burned somewhere deep inside his core, maybe even his soul.

Yes, every gruesome detail would definitely come back to haunt him later.

Sam had no idea how much time passed before he was roused from his hastily built mental sanctuary by a loud CRASH that resounded through the room. Everything was still hazy, but he could make out Dean's face, which was set in a fierce and livid expression. There were others, too. Maybe it was Wentworth and several other teachers…

In all the confusion that followed, all he could really focus on was Dean.

Dean, who knocked out one of the bullies who'd dared to lay hands on his precious little brother.

Dean, who pulled the gag off of him and pulled him carefully into his arms, trying his best to shield him from the rest of the world.

In the end, it was always Dean; it had always been Dean. He was the one who protected him, the one Sam loved more than anything. But Dean would never want him, especially not after this. How could he even look at him now, let alone stand to touch him?

Still, he couldn't stop clinging to Dean, couldn't stop holding onto the man who was the very glue that was holding him together. "It's alright, Sammy," whispered his protector gently in his ear, his voice hoarse and about to break. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

While guarded in the soothing embrace of his big brother, Sam didn't notice all that was going on around him, and before he knew it, even more people entered the room. They surrounded him and Dean, and Sam watched dejectedly as the paramedics forcibly pulled his brother from him.

He whimpered quietly, reaching for Dean with a trembling hand. _No! Dean, don't leave me!_ The terrified boy's mind screamed as the medics assessed him with care. They poked and prodded him, asking him questions he couldn't even begin to answer if his life depended on it. He began to thrash about, struggling blindly with everything in him to get to Dean, but he was several feet out of reach. "Let me go! Dean! Please!" he shouted, tears blurring his vision once more as he felt himself lose any semblance of control he had left.

Sam no longer understood anything that was going on around him. Voices were distorted, and his vision started to go black around the edges, finally fading away into nothing as the powerful sedative the EMTs injected into his arm did its intended job.


	2. Chapter 2

If There's Life After This  
Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, storylines, et cetera. I'm just borrowing them for my story.

Awareness came slowly for the youngest Winchester as he finally regained consciousness. The first thing he felt was pain. It was like a damn battering ram was running repeatedly against the front of his skull. No, scratch that. It wasn't just in his head; the pain was fucking everywhere, and the worst was in his… in his ass? What the hell did that mean?

For a moment, he just lay there, trying to figure out where he was. _I'm in a bed… Thing's pretty uncomfortable. Smells like disinfectant in here. Must be in a hospital… What happened this time?_

The brunette opened his eyes, squinting as bright, fluorescent lights flooded them and made him have to shut them once more. _Who the hell leaves the lights on that bright when a patient's sleeping_? That was when someone's grip on his hand tightened, and he forced his eyes open again. He looked over to see a very pale and worn-looking version of his brother sitting at his bedside. His freckles stood out more starkly than normal on his face, and there were dark smudges under his bright, green eyes.

Sam peered at Dean and squeezed his hand back. "Hey," he croaked out with a small, lopsided smile.

Dean grinned, too, but it never reached his eyes. Some emotion that Sam couldn't name was swimming in his brother's eyes, and it unsettled him. The older boy's hand tightened on his, and Sam could feel the tension and worry coming off of him in waves. "How're you feeling, kiddo?" he asked, his voice tightly controlled. It reminded Sam of one of those guitar strings that had been pulled nearly to its breaking point.

"Like I got thrown into a wall and used as a punching bag by a very pissed off spirit. Is that what happened?" He didn't even want to broach the subject of how in the world the inside of his ass could be hurting. "And I've got the headache from hell, too…"

His brother turned his head away and ran a hand over his mouth, trying to stall for words. "It… wasn't a spirit, Sam. Something happened at school," he said hoarsely. Dean was looking anywhere now but at Sam. The more Dean delayed, the more convinced Sam became that he'd landed in a much worse pile of shit than they usually did.

"Dean, just tell me already…" he pleaded, taking the older boy's hand and squeezing it. "You're scaring me. It can't be that bad… Right?" Dean looked back at him and sighed, squeezing it back. Sam gave a weak smile of encouragement, though it didn't reach his eyes, and he was sure Dean could see his fear.

His older brother squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, fortifying breath. "Some guys… They were hurting your friend. Brian, right?" At the brunette's nod, he continued, obviously struggling to get the words out. "I had detention, so I was still at school when it happened. That kid was hurrying down the hallway with several teachers following him. I almost didn't…" he said, his voice breaking on the last couple of words. He stopped, trying to get himself under control again.

Sam tightened his hold on Dean's hand, feeling it shake in his own. He could imagine his brother was probably living on caffeine right now, and it definitely wasn't helping him get the bad news out. Dean was positively vibrating with nerves, and he looked about ready to jump out of his skin.

"I almost didn't go after them, Sammy. But Brian saw me and practically dragged me after him. God, if…" Dean paused and finally looked back at the scrawny, bruised boy lying in the bed. Sam couldn't remember when he'd looked away in the first place.

"If he hadn't been around, I don't even want to know what could have happened. He's the one who let the teachers know," the worried young man said, shaking his head. Sam didn't need to be in his brother's head to know what he was really saying: He's the one who saved you when it should have been me.

The younger boy's hazel eyes focused on his brother, watching and waiting. From the pain all over his body and the tension in the way Dean was holding himself, he knew the rest of the story wasn't good. Dean didn't disappoint.

"The teachers went to the locker room on a hunch, and… these assholes were _raping_ you, taking goddamn turns…" his brother managed to get out, though Sam could tell how much it had cost him. If it was possible, Dean's face had lost even more color, and his freckles looked more like black dots sprinkled haphazardly over his face than anything else. And he was somehow shaking even more.

As for Sam, he was still, unmoving as the enormity of Dean's words washed over him. Right now, nothing of what Dean had said was ringing any bells in his memory. What the hell was going on? He should remember something that bad! Why couldn't he remember? And just how much time was missing?

Suddenly, it felt like someone had a huge band around his chest, constricting his breathing and crushing the life out of him. His heart felt like it wanted to leap straight out of his ribcage. Panic gripped him as he found himself unable to calm down, hardly able to breathe.

Dean seized his brother in a tight hug and whispered soothing words in his ear as he threaded calloused fingers through soft, dark locks. "Shh, Sammy... You have to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself, and the doc already had a hard enough time patching you up the first time," he said, hardly able to keep the panicked tone out of his own voice. "Let's not go through another surgery now, okay?"

Sam's breaths slowly became deeper and longer, and his heart slowed, but tears still poured from those eyes, eyes full of pain. "S-Sorry... No more surgery... Don't want more pain. Don't wanna..." The injured boy trailed off, schooling his face into a more neutral expression. Dean didn't need another reason to worry.

"Sam? What aren't you telling me?" his big brother asked in a no-nonsense tone, and Sam began to squirm under Dean's probing gaze.

The small, skinny teen looked down and wrapped his arms around his knees in a futile attempt to disappear. Seconds later, Dean's fingers lifted his chin and made him look into his eyes. "Sam, what is it? I need to know."

Like a skittish colt, he pulled away again and tried to assume his previous position. "I… I can't remember…!" he squeaked out. For a moment, the silence between them was almost tangible. "I can't remember any of it! The last thing I remember is getting out of detention to meet up with Brian, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Sam's breaths were coming in uncontrolled gasps, and his heart-rate was skyrocketing again. Dean's eyes darted to the monitor keeping tabs on his brother's vitals, and he gently lowered the kid back to the bed, all the while rubbing soothing circles up and down his arms.

"Come on… Calm down, Sammy. Shh…" Dean whispered, his voice soft, something Sam almost never heard from his gruff brother. "You took some nasty hits to the head. The doc said this might happen. For now, you should sleep, okay? You need it, and it'll make you feel better. Plus, when you're up to it, we're hauling ass out of this town. Dad wasn't happy about leaving the hunt, but we're leaving it to someone else so you can heal and all."

The older Winchester plastered on the best grin he could for his brother and gently mussed his hair. "Just rest. I'll still be around when you wake up." Sam nodded, hair falling into his puppy-like eyes like it always did, and Dean's voice easily lulled him back into slumber.

It wasn't until Dean was sure his little brother was out for the count that he let the tears threatening to leave his eyes fall.

With the extent of Sam's injuries, including a few nasty breaks to the ribs that had caused internal bleeding, not to mention the damage the rape, itself, caused, the Winchesters were stuck. They had no choice but to stay as long as they could without risking their fraudulent insurance being found out.

After nearly a week in the hospital, they were all getting restless. When Sam's body had finally healed enough that it would be safe for him to travel past state lines in the Impala, John was busy packing up their things still at their dilapidated apartment. While Sam and Dean were getting the stuff they'd brought to the hospital together, a quick knock at the door made them turn around.

The brothers' breath caught in their throats when they saw Brian standing in the doorway. His face was a whole mixture of emotions, but worry and guilt seemed to be at the forefront. An awkward silence permeated the room for a few moments until the sandy-haired boy said, "I, uh… I heard you were leaving today."

Sam was sitting up on the bed and got up slowly, grimacing and holding his side. He ignored Dean's disapproving and worried gaze and kept his eyes on Brian. "Yeah, we are. My dad and brother think it's best and safer," he replied, looking a little solemn. "I, uh, really should thank you. If you hadn't gotten the teachers' attention and let Dean know, I might not have made it. There was some internal bleeding."

Brian looked down, suddenly finding the floor absolutely fascinating. "I'm really sorry. I'm the one who got you involved in this whole mess to begin with." He sighed and shook his head. "You stood up for me, and it almost got you killed."

Despite all the confusion it caused, Sam suddenly felt very grateful that he couldn't remember any of the assault. Everything had come to light with Brian's account of what had happened and how Sam had taken the hit for him, along with what the teachers and Dean saw. But as for any emotions, even any memories, he still drew a complete blank past the point where he was walking down the hall to meet Brian.

Of course, with his head injury, that made sense. The time frame of where his recollection stopped was within reason, regarding the symptoms of a concussion. It was uncertain what and if he'd ever remember the violent assault.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault I apparently decided to jump into a fight I couldn't win, you know," the young hunter said with a humorless grin. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, and he sighed. "Sorry, I wish we could talk longer, but we really need to get going."

Brian nodded, gave them both a quick wave, and left the room with a falsely cheerful "See you around" that they all knew was no more than a pipe dream. In all likelihood, they'd never cross paths again. And really, that was just fine with Sam.

About half an hour later, a nurse was getting Sam transferred safely into the required wheelchair so that he could be officially discharged, even if they were leaving against medical advice. As Dean pushed him out towards the entrance, he was wearing a perfect bitch-face, mumbling under his breath about the injustice of it all and how it didn't make a damned bit of sense to put him in a wheelchair and force him to sit on his butt when it was still healing. If the nurse heard anything, she gave no indication, but his brother's snickers were unmistakable.

When they reached the car, and Dean opened the back door, Sam could see the nest of pillows and comforters that were clearly taken from that furnished apartment they'd rented. He couldn't help but be appreciative of the thought Dean had put into it all. John had vacated his fully loaded truck and kept protective eyes on his youngest child as his oldest gently deposited him in the car. Now that the nurse had gone, Sam was a lot more vocal about not wanting to be assisted.

"I can do it myself, Dean! I'm not a baby," he argued while struggling to get out of his brother's grip.

"Sammy, if you'd walked down here, you could rip your stitches, even inside. I don't wanna hear one more word about it," the freckled blonde said, fixing brightly green eyes on his charge with an expression that left no room for argument. Sam glared, but he rolled his eyes and fell silent, letting Dean manhandle him into the car. That didn't mean his best bitch-face was still plastered on.

After getting settled in the car, he couldn't help admitting to himself that the setup was great. It would make the journey out of Virginia a hell of a lot more comfortable. On the best of days, riding in the Impala was bumpy, but he was used to it, at least. It felt like home.

As he felt the car start, the younger boy couldn't help letting the rumble lull him to a peaceful sleep that let him escape from the fear of the unknown, of what he couldn't recall.

Sam slept the entire ride to some small town in Kentucky, where they stopped at yet another dump of a motel for the night. Dean carried Sam from the car to the motel room, rousing him and eliciting more protests that he could get to the room on his own. His whining went ignored as the older boy deposited his kid brother on the bed farthest from the door and sat down on the foot of the mattress.

John sat down on his bed and picked up the old rotary phone, dialing the number for the nearest Chinese place. Only a few places actually had the ancient instruments of telecommunication anymore, but they'd encountered a few on their travels. "Hey, I need three orders of pork-fried rice and an order of dumplings," he said, pausing to listen to the other end of the line. "Yeah, I'll be there in five." Another pause. "No, I don't mind waiting."

Hanging up the phone, the Winchester patriarch said, "I should be back in less than thirty minutes. Dean, get the place protected. You know the drill." He broke off as he caught a glimpse of his youngest watching him from his half-sitting, half-lying position. Apparently, Dean had already set up the pillows and everything for Sam during his short phone call.

The blonde nodded and got up, though he cast a reluctant look at the smaller boy on the bed. But he didn't question his father's command, like the good little soldier he'd always been. John walked to the bed and ran his fingers through the soft, dark waves of his youngest child's hair. The very last and most precious gift his wife ever gave him. The child she'd given her very life to protect. And they'd almost lost him...

"Don't give Dean any trouble, and I better not hear a thing about you trying to walk around. I'll be back soon, and we'll have something other than hospital food for the first time in a while," he said, ruffling the too-long fringe before he finally let go and walked out the door, a whole host of emotions on his haggard face.

Once their father shut the door, Dean set to work on the salt lines, covering all surfaces that might allow the slightest possibility for any kind of evil to slip inside. He did his work methodically, glancing at Sam every once in a while until he was done. After the last line was laid, he sat down on the bed. Sam's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at the freckled face above him. Had he actually fallen asleep?

"Sammy, um, I know it's been… rough and that it hasn't been long since…" he said, pausing awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say.

"Dean, I don't remember, and I think I'd rather it stay that way. I don't want to talk about it." With that, he rolled over so his brother couldn't see his face or the tears he was trying to hold back. He could feel Dean's eyes burning into the back of his head, and he could imagine the hurt expression on his face. But Sam couldn't bear the thought of looking at his big brother and seeing the pity and the guilt in his eyes that he knew would be there. Not when he knew he was disgusting and defiled now. Nothing but used, damaged goods.

Within a few minutes, the brunette was in the depths of fitful sleep as Dean watched him with concern marring his features.


	3. Chapter 3

If There's Life After This  
Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. You won't get much if you sue me.

It had been several weeks since they'd gone back to school, and Sam was slowly fading. He knew his father and brother could see how withdrawn and tense he'd become, but he didn't know how to just snap back to normal. Dean hardly ever let him out of his sight these days, either, except when they were in their respective classes. Not to mention, Sam's grades were dropping, since he just couldn't focus on his studies when memories of that day kept coming back at the most unpredictable times.

Whenever those memories did come, he could barely keep himself together for the rest of the day. His brother usually stepped in to handle things, though Sam kept pushing him away. After several long weeks of such atypical behavior, Dean was used to that, but that didn't make dealing with Sam's strange silence any easier. During those hard nights after a new memory resurfaced, Dean always gave him something to knock him out so he could sleep; no one wanted a repeat of that first night Sam remembered one of the terrible details of his attack.

The emotions of an event he had little, if any, recollection of had infiltrated his dreams, quickly transforming them into nightmares that left him a screaming, quivering mess of tears in his brother's arms. Sleep didn't come again for several days after that. And food seemed to become an afterthought since that night.

Social situations were worse torture than anything else as more and more came back to his mind. As Sam's mental and emotional state deteriorated, John had reluctantly given the principal a rough, vague picture of what had happened to his youngest, but only with the understanding that his oldest son be notified if Sam had one of his "freak-outs" while at school.

It wasn't long after that when Sam walked into the locker room as someone slammed one of the lockers shut. That was all it took to bring tremors to his small, too-thin frame as his vision turned inward, showing him images of everything, things he'd never wanted to see again.

When Dean finally made it to the room, he found his little brother in a corner, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knobbly knees. A few onlookers kept their distance and looked wary to approach him. "Sam… Sammy, it's me, Dean. You with me?" he asked softly, tilting the boy's head up gently to look into pain-filled eyes.

The younger boy pulled away, and a curtain of long bangs covered his tear-streaked face. "N-No… Please… Don't touch me! You'll get dirty, too!" he screamed, turning away from his protector, his savior. He didn't deserve Dean; he never had. And he sure as hell wasn't going to cover him with the same filth he couldn't wash off, no matter how hard he tried.

Dean looked hurt, but he persisted and moved closer again, easily picking up his light burden as he thrashed about in his arms. "It's all gonna be alright, Sammy. I'm taking you home, okay?" he said soothingly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure Dad doesn't make you come here again. And I'll stay with you, alright? I'm not leaving you."

Though the kid fought him initially, once they reached the car, Sam had worn himself out and was sleeping almost peacefully. Dean carefully got him situated in the Impala and pressed a soft, tender kiss to the boy's parted lips as he carded a hand through his hair.

A tiny moan from the skinny teen was all it took to break the moment, and a blush involuntarily crept its way to the hunter's freckled cheeks as he looked at his kid brother in shock. "What the hell am I doing? Oh, my God… This is wrong on so many levels." He turned the key in the ignition once he recovered from his shock and sped home, breaking several speed limits on the way.

Sam looked out the window, watching the rain as it fell. He liked the rain. It seemed to suit his mood a lot better than big, puffy clouds and sunshine. And the thunder said everything he couldn't anymore, considering it had been weeks since he'd said a word. There were so many things he couldn't say, he didn't even know where to begin.

Huge drops of water rhythmically beat on the windowpane of the old house they'd rented in town. After his breakdown in the middle of school, John had secured a more permanent place for them to stay while Sam recovered. It was small, old, and cheap, but that was the Winchester standard.

Out of the blue, he felt large, strong hands take hold of his stick-like arms tightly and turn him so he was looking straight into his father's face and smelling the strong odor of whisky on his breath. "I have been calling you for five minutes, Sam! You need to stop checking out on me like that!" he yelled as he pulled his son up to a standing position and led him roughly to the kitchen table. He pushed a bowl of tomato-and-rice soup into the boy's line of vision once they were both sitting down.

The brunette just stared at it, then at John. The older man sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sam, just eat the soup. Come on." When the boy continued to just look at him mutely, he sighed heavily, and his voice took on an almost pleading note. "Sammy, please. You have to eat, and you need to talk to us. If you won't talk to me, at least talk to Dean. I had to order him out to do interviews for a hunt to get him to leave for a few hours."

Sam remembered that. Dean had nearly disobeyed their father, something he wasn't even sure his brother was capable of doing. He'd loudly insisted that his brother needed him here and that the last thing they needed to be focusing on was a hunt. But like every other time, John's orders superseded everything else, even his sons.

He wasn't sure how long Dean had been gone. Everything just seemed to happen in a blur these days, a vacuum without any concept of time. An unsteady hand that looked too bony to be his own took hold of the spoon already set inside the bowl and slowly stirred the contents around.

"Eat the soup, Sam! I am tired of playing this game with you!" was the only warning he received before his father slammed a hand down on the table. He covered his ears and closed his eyes, trying to block it out, but John's voice broke through his inadequate barrier.

Before he even understood what was happening, the table and soup were tipped over on the ground. Tears were flowing from his eyes, but he didn't break his silence, no matter how badly he wanted to break out of the prison of his own design and scream from the rooftops that he felt like he was dying inside.

The frail shell of a fourteen-year-old had his arms wrapped around his legs again and was rocking back and forth, something he frequently resorted to now, whether he was aware of it or not. He didn't hear John's voice booming at him, didn't see or feel his attempts to reach him; all Sam could see was red. Soup, red like blood, like his blood, spilled on the linoleum beside a shattered bowl.

That was when the pain started. The blow was to his cheek, a hard slap. It was inconsequential, compared to the force John could easily deliver with his fists. But it was enough to knock Sam's malnourished body to the floor just as Dean opened the door. After that, his vision grew blurry, and familiar, raised voices were distorted and sounded as if they were coming from far, far away.

He felt familiar, protective arms cradling him and lifting him up like he was made of porcelain. _Dean_. That's who it had to be. Only Dean carried him like that. The fog over his head was lifting, and Sam could hear his father yelling, screaming for Dean to get his ass back in the house right now. But they weren't turning back; Dean was heading for the Impala.

His brother placed him in the back and shut the door, using his body as a shield between his dad and the precious burden he'd been given at four and was proud to bear. Sam didn't dare look up as he heard John's footsteps get closer and closer to the car. Then, that heavy gait came to a stop, and the boy's trained ears heard something he knew all too well.

When he chanced a look, he saw Dean pointing his loaded gun straight at their father's head. Any lingering fuzziness went out the window at the sight, and he heard his brother say, "You take one more step closer to Sammy, and I will shoot. I mean it."

Sam watched as John raised his hands in the air and started to take a step forward. Dean slightly moved his wrist and fired, grazing the oldest Winchester's head. A trail of red seeped down from the small wound, and the blonde hardened his gaze. "I won't miss next time, John," he said, his father's name spilling like venom from his mouth. "You won't hurt him ever again."

Slowly, he made his way to the driver's seat and opened the door while keeping his gun trained on the man he'd hero-worshipped all his life. Until he saw that same man hurt his baby brother. Once he was in the car, the engine revved to life, and all that awaited them was the open road.

With just him and Dean, it felt like life as usual, except they had no overbearing, militant parent jumping down their throats. It was nice to just spend time together without all that added pressure.

Sam still wasn't speaking, but he'd come enough out of his shell enough to communicate with him in other ways, like facial expressions, small grunts or sighs, and body language. And when the kid felt up to it, they'd spend time with the pen and paper, though that method usually left Sam inexplicably drained.

So they just drove on, stopping in motels each night. Dean only ever left him alone in the room for a few hours to hustle pool to sustain their nomadic existence when they were close to running out of money. It was on one of those nights that Sam was staring out the window, watching as the cars passed by, that he heard the rumble of the Impala, then Dean's footfalls as he walked to their room and unlocked the door.

Sam looked at him questioningly, cocking his head in that sweet, perplexed way that always made Dean smile. He wasn't let down, and he felt himself grin as a smile spread across his big brother's attractive face. The happy expression lit up his features, and Sam couldn't help but let those dimples show, something neither of them had seen since the boy had been attacked.

Dean wrapped him in a hug, and Sam had only just recently started letting him do that without either stiffening up or fighting him after he'd remembered everything in that locker room back in Kentucky. "Sammy, I know you're not comfortable around other people besides me right now, but..." he said, pausing as he gauged his little brother's reaction.

The brunette's smile had disappeared, revealing pale skin that looked as fragile as paper drawn too tightly across high cheekbones. The boy still wasn't eating well, though he'd at least stopped losing weight, which had to count for something.

Sam clung to him, watching him like a hawk. He remained silent, though that wasn't anything new, as he waited for more words from the only one he felt he could trust.

"Look, we need something more permanent. I've, uh, been driving us in the general direction of South Dakota," the freckled blonde said, running a hand through Sam's soft, shaggy hair. Sam's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he realized what that meant.

Bobby. The waif-like boy started trembling, and he felt Dean's hold tighten on him, steadying him in case his knees buckled. He'd fallen before; hell, he'd passed out, too, and it was more than obvious that Dean was worried out of his mind.

His brother picked him up like he weighed nothing, which was probably almost true, and deposited him on the bed, lying down next to him and cradling him close. Dean pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then his lips. Sam let him, even smiling a bit when he looked up at beautiful, green eyes as his sibling pulled away. A flush obscured those adorable freckles, and a light chuckle escaped the young boy's mouth.

Sam watched Dean's worried face brighten again when he laughed. "You're already doing a lot better if you're smiling and laughing again. So… maybe we should just finish the job at Bobby's. He, uh… He never liked how John raised us, so I'm pretty damn sure he'd die before laying a finger on you," the older hunter said, letting his fingers walk up Sam's small chest. It tickled, and the youngest Winchester squealed and turned away, wrapping himself in a tight, little ball of scrawny limbs to get away from the light touches.

"Hey, hey, hey… Calm down, Sammy," Dean said as he soothingly rubbed a hand down the jumpy kid's back. "Sorry, kiddo. Won't do that if it bothers you, okay? I promise." Sam slowly let the strong hands he trusted implicitly turn him back around and just giggled.

Dean watched as the kid worked his mouth into shapes that looked suspiciously like words trying to force their way out. Sam could tell he didn't want to break this moment, this chance, even the slightest possibility that he might just say something.

And then, out it came.

"T-Tic…k-kles." The word was slightly garbled and very hoarse and soft, but the smile on Dean's face let Sam know he knew exactly what he'd said. His dimples came out to play, and they both started laughing hysterically.

In a matter of minutes, they were laughing so hard, they were crying, and then, they were just crying in earnest. It was the biggest chick-flick moment that had happened in Winchester history, but it felt good. God, it felt good to laugh, to cry, to just be.

So in that small, crackly voice, Sam whispered, "B-Bobby's," letting his head bob up and down.

The next day, they were already burning rubber and reached Sioux Falls before dusk.


	4. Epilogue

If There's Life After This  
Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Please don't sue me. I'm doing this for fun.

"Sam! Get down here! I don't know how much longer I can keep that idjit brother of yours away from your dinner!" Bobby yelled, his gruff voice carrying all the way up the stairs of the old house.

The brunette looked at his handiwork and grinned wickedly. It had once been a simple, flowery, old apron that had belonged to Bobby's late wife, but now, embroidered across the skirt portion by his own hand, were the words "World's Greatest Mom." In fuchsia, no less.

He got up and hid the apron behind his back as he ran down the stairs, causing the huge racket he always did, now that he was doing so much better these days. Sam was talking with almost no problems now, and the school year wasn't far from starting. It had taken a lot of therapy in the privacy of Bobby's own home to get him to the point where he could be around people, especially those around his own age who happened to be of a large build, without clamming up and clinging to Dean like he was the only one keeping him sane.

"Sam, how many times have I told you not to run down those stairs?" Bobby's gruff, bearlike voice stopped the kid in his tracks, and Sam looked at him sheepishly, complete with puppy-eyes.

The old man rolled his eyes and patted one of the empty seats at the table. There was a candle lit at the table, something new, a tradition to honor what day it was. It stood beside a picture of Mary, not long before she died, hugging a baby Sam and a four-year-old Dean to her.

It was Mothers' Day, and there was one more empty chair at the table. Sam sat down in the chair beside it, so that the chair was between him and Dean. He then pulled the apron out and said, "Happy Mothers' Day!" with an overly bright tone that made Dean cringe.

The older Winchester looked at the apron in horror, and that was when Sam got up from the chair and started running.

"SAM! I'm gonna kill you!" he yelled, tearing off after his brother while Bobby just shook his head.

"Damn idjits."

When Dean caught up to him, he caught the scrawny kid in his arms in the hall, tickling him for all he was worth. "Dean, no!" yelled the smaller boy, laughing uncontrollably and wriggling to get free. Soon, the kid sagged in his arms, too tired to laugh anymore and out of breath.

Even if he had, indeed, improved greatly, Sam still found it difficult to eat, causing him to tire easily. Instances like these reminded Dean how far Sammy had to go. With the small amounts of food they could get the boy to eat, supplement drinks were a necessity, too, especially considering how Sam's body had finally started on that long-overdue growth spurt. He certainly couldn't call the kid a runt anymore, what with the few inches he'd somehow managed to add onto his wiry frame. The sudden gain in height robbed him of the healthy glow he was starting to get back, leaving him gangly and far too thin once more.

But none of that seemed to affect any of Dean's desire for him, even though it was clear the man worried and might not ever stop.

Suddenly, the blonde turned him around and captured his lips in a kiss full of desire. Sam almost immediately opened his mouth, and Dean didn't hesitate to take the plunge, delving in that delicious cavern that tasted entirely of his other half. They didn't have to explore; over the months, they'd been all over each other, doing this and that, though not going all the way. There was an unspoken agreement that Sam definitely wasn't ready for that.

Suddenly, they were in the bedroom, kissing and touching and caressing. They never heard or saw their surrogate father peek in to figure out what those kids were up to now. But if they'd been listening, they definitely would have heard something like "idjits" mumbled under Bobby's breath.


End file.
